Back to the Future

This weekend husband J. and I traveled back in time. Our time machine was our Honda Element, newly-cleaned and devoid of kid car seats (the kids stayed in the present, with a babysitter). We headed east, tunneling through the last eight years: past the birth of little F., through H.’s pre-school years, spiraling past his chubby toddlerhood and – with a burst of light – landed on the other side, pre-kids, pre-parenthood. We alighted in the parking lot of a swank hotel, gave our keys to the valet, and entered the lobby as unencumbered individuals.

We started with a drink apiece in the hotel bar, a minimalist establishment with wrought-iron art on the walls. We commented on the pain such objects could inflict and tried to avert our eyes from our bill (which approached the GNP of some small countries). But money was no object. In this alternate reality, we were childless, still in our 30′s and reasonably hip. The world was our oyster, and we were going to rip the pearl from the center of it – fearing that it would be at least another four years before we got another shot at the darned thing.

Then we headed to the restaurant, where our waitress recommended a particular bottle of wine. “I don’t think I can drink more than one glass,” I demurred, pressing my hand to my throat in a gesture of prim distaste, before I remembered who I was supposed to be. “On second thought, make it a magnum! And bring on the gypsies!” She gave me a confused look and went to fetch the wine.

It was an old-fashioned steakhouse frequented by generations of families, the old folks nodding over their cocktails, the kids happily tucking into their Shirley Temples and shrimp baskets. Two tables over, a little boy cried while his mother dug in her bag for the inevitable bag of goldfish crackers. At another table, a new bride shrieked and spilled her martini. J. and I shrugged and started in on the garlic toast, the butter content of which could only be explained by supersaturation at the molecular level.

Two hours later, we were rolled out of the restaurant sideways and made our way back to our hotel room.

Let me exclaim about the linens for a moment.

The linens!

From the moment I touched them, I knew the room bill would be another from which I averted my eyes. We fell upon the bed and lay there, dazed and pleasantly buttered. Sleep beckoned us. Then we remembered who we were – at least for another 12 hours. We turned toward each other, and the camera panned through the window to the lights of the skyline that surrounded us.

The next morning, we had a late breakfast and lots of black coffee, and then headed west — back to the future, where our substandard linens and our beautiful kids awaited us.